![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: The League Of Fairly Unusual Gentlemen: Origin
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kellifer_fic
Rating: PG
Category: Crossover (SPN/SGA/SG-1/BTVS/ANGEL)
Word Count: 3,297
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, no offense, no money.
Notes: Previous story The League Of Fairly Unusual Gentlemen - can be read as a standalone.
Summary: This is not how to set up a supernatural task force.
“It happens to everyone.”
Cameron looks up at Cordelia, who is swinging back and forth in her chair and twirling a piece of hair around her finger. Every now and again she leans forward and adjusts her nameplate and then her pen cup like she has a little OCD going on. She’s looking completely unimpressed that Cameron is currently an alarming shade of violet from his head to his boots.
He’s hoping he’s at least normal skin colour under his clothes but he kinda doubts it. He hasn’t been game enough to look.
“Well, not specifically that,” Cordelia allows. She’s got her phone headset on but she’s hit speaker because she’s on hold. The faint strains of Bach can be heard through the tinny speakers. Classical music for the masses, stripped bare and strained.
“Is anyone else here?” Cameron asks because he’s really hoping there isn’t. If Ronon or maybe Oz catches sight of him then it’s not real big deal. Sam or Dean though? He’ll never hear the end of it.
“Sam’s in the… thing,” Cordelia answers, waving a hand in the general direction of the row of partitions that separate the large warehouse space from the little bubble of space-time that serves as their actual office area. Cameron’s never, ever going to get used to the prickly sensation he gets whenever he goes near it or the fact that there’s a room that you walk through a wall to get to that is pimped out with all the latest mod cons in the middle of a bare industrial estate.
“Okay, I’m going to go home and try to… de-colour,” Cameron says, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. He knows a pretty smart woman who works at Area 51 who might have an idea on how he can accomplish the task. Either that or his mom. His first assignment by himself and he ends up looking like Violet Beauregarde without the unfortunate bloating. Yeah, he’s really glad no one’s around.
“Nu’uh,” Cordelia snaps, holding up an imperious finger. “Not until we get a sample.” She’s leaning forward and thumbing the intercom, something else that makes Cameron’s head hurt, to think just how an intercom works between the warehouse and the other place. “Sam? You’re gonna want to come out here,” she says.
There’s the faint smell of ozone and a crackle and then Sam’s head appears above the line of partitions. His eyebrows climb as soon as he spots Cameron but he doesn’t laugh. His mouth thins down into a tiny slash and the skin around his lips goes white but he doesn’t laugh.
Oh yeah, going to be hearing about this one for months.
“So, what happened to you?” Sam asks brightly after a too-long drawn out silence which means he had to fight for composure. His voice sounds a little wobbly.
“Absolutely nothing,” Cameron deadpans.
The warehouse door on the other side opens and slams shut and Cameron winces. “Holy blueberry!” Dean exclaims from behind him.
“Look, it happens-” Sam starts to say, his lips still funny and tight.
“To everyone. Yeah, I got that, thanks,” Cameron snarls through gritted teeth.
000
You see, it happens like this.
Stargate Command establishes an Earth-based task force to deal with those rare occasions when alien activity is not confined to Cheyenne Mountain. It’s all going swimmingly right up until on three separate occasions, the task force is investigating an unusual event and they run into a pair of guys with different credentials each time.
Twice, the SGC task force backs off because there is no actual evidence of alien incursion but the third time, with a Goa’uld turning up in Nebraska, they go in and find the Goa’uld tied to a chair with the men throwing holy water and Latin around and looking really confused that it’s not getting results.
The taskforce does the only thing they can think of. They arrest the two men, throw them in a holding cell in Colorado Springs and then have absolutely no idea what to do with them. There’s a couple of escape attempts and the pair actually almost get out on one of them despite being deep in the bowels of a military installation. The higher ups realise they can’t just leave them sitting on their hands forever because they seem pretty determined to get out.
General Jack O’Neill flies out from Washington and the men, identified as Sam and Dean Winchester, are trooped in to meet him.
“So,” Jack says, eyes flicking between them. “Ghosts are real, huh?”
Dean just snorts and leans back in his chair but Sam sits forward, wearing an earnest expression and resting his elbows on his knees. “Apparently so are aliens,” Sam says in the exact same tone and Jack… well?
He laughs.
“You understand we can’t have you running afoul of our ops?” Jack begins, and Dean is now looking thoroughly unimpressed and even a little pissed off. Apparently though, he and Sam have decided that Sam is the spokesperson despite Dean looking about ready to tell Jack what he can do with his ops, or how far he can shove them.
“We don’t want you guys getting in the way of our hunts either,” Sam agrees. Jack blinks at him because he didn’t realise they were negotiating, but apparently, there it is. One of the perks of being a General is Jack can have ideas and just run with them without having to run them through any kind of approval process. At least, that’s what he keeps doing. He’s got some underlings who constantly look harassed and would like to inform him that this isn’t particularly true.
“I maybe have a way we can both leave here happy,” Jack says and both Sam and Dean look interested but wary. Dean reaches across the table to the plate of muffins that are in the center and proceeds to eat only the tops of five before he brushes off his hands and nods.
“Proceed,” he invites, managing to sound magnanimous.
Yep, Jack likes these boys a lot.
000
Cameron asks if he can drive the Impala exactly once. That’s enough to know that he has stepped into a no-man’s land. “I thought it was, you know, provided,” he says when he’s just stared at and Dean makes a horrible choking noise, Sam thumping him on the back and glaring at Cameron like he’s just proposed microwaving bunnies.
He’s relegated to the back seat and is made to understand that he would’ve been in the trunk if it hadn’t been full of equipment. Cameron worked hard to get to his position so it’s a little unfair that he’s with a bunch of civilians who have absolutely zero respect for his rank. Jack’s only advice is to be more assertive. Cameron only hopes that the pall of new guy wears off some time in the next ten years.
Cameron’s always had trouble sitting still so stakeouts are murder on him. It doesn’t help that Sam and Dean are in the front seat, Dean working his way through a box of powdered donuts and Sam engrossed in a book. They have this kind of short hand to their speech that Cameron’s finding a little too hard to follow. He supposes it hasn’t really been an issue before considering the laconic nature of both Ronon and Oz and the fact that Cordelia doesn’t listen to anyone.
“You want one?” Dean offers the box of donuts over the seat and Cameron shakes his head.
“Nah. I can’t keep it off like I used to,” he says, patting his stomach absently. Dean’s eyes narrow and he curls the box back towards himself.
“Are you calling me fat?” he demands, mouth still half-full.
“If Dean offers you a donut, you take it,” Sam intones from his place on the passenger side, not even looking up from his book.
It takes a moment for Cameron to realise that they are both messing with him in their own unique ways.
000
Dean’s interest perks as soon as Cordelia Chase walks into their warehouse but fades a little when he sees her glancing around and wrinkling up her nose. She plops her resume down on the desk between them and takes a seat without being asked. Sam, at the end of the desk with a laptop open in front of him, raises one eyebrow.
Dean makes a show of looking through her resume but isn’t too sure what he’s supposed to see. He’s never actually hired anyone before and he can’t tell whether the three pages on electric blue paper and smelling faintly of flowers is what he should be expecting. He’s thankful he really only has to go through this once though. He and Sam interviewing is only a formality. It’s not like they can stick a ‘Help Wanted’ sign outside.
They’re pretty much stuck with whoever the SGC sends them.
“Not military?” Dean hazards, looking at the painted nails and pencil skirt with a slash almost to the hip which he is really a fan of.
“God, no,” Cordelia dismisses with an airy wave of her hand. “Look, I’ve done the whole office assistant thing before,” she adds, leaning forward to tap one of her painted nails on the top page of the resume. “Plus, I’m a seer. That’s a bonus, right?”
Dean looks at Sam who is frowning. “Everyone’s a seer these days,” Sam grumbles, not looking up from the screen.
“Anyway,” Cordelia steamrollers ahead, flashing Dean a bright smile. “Unemployment does not suit me but I’m a little limited to where I can work.”
“She’s flagged as a demon,” Sam says, sounding surprised and both Dean and Cordelia look at him. Sam colours and turns the laptop around, Cordelia’s profile in the top window and a red bar across the bottom. “Why would they send us-?”
Cordelia huffs an exasperated sigh. She brings a hand up and squeezes her thumb and index finger together, leaving about an inch of space. “I’m only the tiniest bit demon,” she says. “And that’s only because if I’d kept having my visions as a full-blood human then it would’ve blown out the back of my head in a rather spectacular and gross fashion.”
“You’re not evil?” Dean is a little wary, but then he looks at Sam again. Despite their protestations, the SGC had felt it necessary to flag Sam on the demon registry too. That had almost been a deal breaker.
“If by evil you mean head spinning, pea soup spewing? Then no,” Cordelia confirms.
“Wait, you worked for an angel?”
000
Cameron ends up spending a lot of time with Ronon and Oz. They’re both unlike anyone he’s ever met before and they both have the ability to say a lot without saying very much. Ronon is a big fan of horror movies and the muppets and Oz finds out of the way tiny clubs with great live music.
“That was my band,” Oz reveals one day when Cameron’s helping him clean out his van and he unearths a record with a picture of what looks like a dun-coloured dog holding a baby doll in its jaws. Cameron just raises his eyebrows and Oz shakes his head. “It was funny at the time.”
“Do you miss…?” Cameron trails off, realising that he was just about to put his foot royally in his mouth. Being normal, is what he was going to ask and Oz gives him a look like he knows exactly what the end of that question was supposed to be. He watches Oz going through clothes and sniffing them experimentally, sorting out two piles, what Cameron thinks is probably dirty and unsalvageable.
“I almost killed my girlfriend my very first cycle,” Oz says when he finally pauses, a t-shirt in each hand. One has a bloodstain and a large tear in the back. “So would I change it if I could? You bet,” he adds, sounding so neutral that Cameron’s really not sure if he’s overstepped some invisible line in the sand or not. Oz touches the prayer beads that circle his wrist and hand.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean…” Cameron makes a helpless gesture with his hands. Oz always seems so unaffected by everything that he had no idea there was such obvious pain below the surface. He supposes it was ludicrous to think anything but.
000
“Don’t freak out.”
Dean and Sam are looking at Cordelia who is standing in front of two people, a small guy with spiky orange hair and a woman with longer red hair. Sam had been antsy all morning and went into full on jitter mode as soon as they’d entered. Dean’s pretty sure it has to do with one or both of them.
“These are my friends Oz and Willow,” Cordelia introduces. “Oz here needs a favour and Willow’s here to help.”
“A favour from us?” Dean asks, incredulous.
“Well, technically me but I’m kinda volunteering you.” Cordelia’s shoulders go up around her ears and she grins in a way Dean recognises. It’s the ice-cream for breakfast grin that Sam had tried on him when he was seven. “See, Oz here is a werewolf and… woah!” Cordelia puts her hands up and Willow and Oz step backwards when both Sam and Dean pull weapons.
“Sorry man, nothing personal,” Dean says grimly, advancing on Oz but Cordelia steps in between, smacking Dean in the chest with her hands and glaring.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” she demands as a wind whips up. Dean and Sam both look around in surprise and then at Willow who has her hands out at her sides, fingers splayed. The wind is coming from her.
“Everyone calm down!” Cordelia yells over the increasing screech of the wind that is tossing papers and books around. Oz is hunched into himself, arms crossed over his chest and looking uncomfortable about the whole thing.
“You said you weren’t evil!” Dean accuses, pointing a finger from Cordelia to Willow. “But you bring a witch in here and a werewolf!”
“They’re not… oh hell. Willow would you quit that!” Cordelia snaps, turning her back on Dean long enough to smack Willow in the forehead. Willow looks surprised and then furious but the wind dies. “You’ve dealt with witches before,” Cordelia says, turning back on the brothers. “Unless the portal into the main office just, I don’t know, magically appeared by itself.”
“There’s only one thing you can do for a werewolf,” Sam pipes up, looking stricken.
“That’s so obtuse,” Willow scoffs.
“Look, I don’t want to be any trouble,” Oz adds. Willow keeps trying to stand in front of him but he keeps edging around her. “If this is a big deal, we’ll find somewhere else.”
“For what?” Dean asks, curious despite himself.
“I was going to set up a holding portal here. Cordy said it would be okay,” Willow says, indicating their space with a wave of her hand.
“A what?” Sam asks, lowering his gun. Dean does the same when Cordelia narrows her eyes at him.
“Oz doesn’t have to change every month but it takes the edge of if he does every three or so,” Willow explains. Dean and Sam both blink at her. “I set up a holding portal that can be closed from the outside and there’s no actual cage he can escape from during the transformation. It’s a lot safer.”
“There’s nothing safe about being a werewolf,” Dean interrupts and Willow rolls her eyes.
“Yes, we are well aware of that thankyou,” she sniffs. “But there’s certainly precautions you can take that mean you don’t have to…” She waves a hand at their now lowered weapons.
“He’s pretty useful too,” Cordelia adds, smiling. “When friends of ours were kidnapped we found them from across town because he could smell them.” Dean notices both Willow’s and Oz’s expressions do something funny when Cordelia says this but he doesn’t press.
000
Cameron isn’t exactly dreading his call in to the SGC, but he also isn’t quite sure what he’s going to say. The work is certainly exciting and intriguing, but sometimes it’s like wrangling middle schoolers.
Dean choosing that very moment to peg an M&M at his head, case in point.
000
“Apparently,” Dean says to the assembled group, half a jawbreaker lodged in his cheek so he looks like a lopsided chipmunk. “We’ve become the dumping ground for weird alien crap.”
“His name is Ronon,” Sam corrects from his perch on Cordelia’s desk, a file open in his lap.
“He’s a guy with a tracking device embedded in his spine who is being chased by space vampires,” Dean adds, crossing his arms and furrowing his brow. “I only just got used to the whole vampire thing. Now I gotta add space to it?”
“We’re not worried about them finding him here?” Cordelia asks, not looking very concerned about it. Currently she’s painting the nails on Sam’s hand she can reach pale pink.
“Well, they’re from another galaxy,” Dean says, waving an airy hand in the vague direction of the roof. “Maybe there’s no alien space vampire receiving tower in the neighbourhood.”
“I’m sorry, was this an actual meeting or did you just want to vent?” Oz asks and Dean turns on him.
“You’re getting a little lippy,’ Dean accuses and Oz grins.
000
But really, it happens like this.
Cameron Mitchell can ask for any assignment he wishes and he knows he’ll be transferred in a second. Getting your ass shot down while saving the day in Antarctica does have its perks, even if it takes twelve months of intensive physical therapy to finally be in a position to enjoy them.
He’s not restricted from flying, can head to nearest Air force base whenever he wants and take whatever he wants up. He gets called up when there’s something especially experimental and pretty to fly which is a bonus.
He doesn’t really feel settled though, not until the first time Sam and Dean turn up to his house, a stack of movies and pizza boxes piled between them. Oz and Ronon show up next and Cordelia isn’t far behind, although she makes a face at the movie choices and reads a magazine instead of watching, feet propped on Ronon’s shoulder who is sitting on the floor in front of her.
Ronon’s usually silent demeanour disappears as soon as a movie is on. He asks questions and laughs loud and fights with Dean for the popcorn until Cameron separates it into two bowls, and then fights with Dean about who got more.
Oz flicks through his record collection and isn’t as amused by it as Cameron would’ve assumed. Cameron likes his country and he likes original vinyl and these two things seem to be a-okay with Oz.
Sam tells him about how they started all this while they’re fetching beers in the kitchen and reheating some of the left over pizza. He’s funny and engaging but while Cameron knows there’s a lot he’s not telling him, he doesn’t mind half so much. Mostly because he also hears about how their dad was in the marines so it isn’t the military either he or Dean have such a problem with but the fact that they didn’t really have a say in who they got assigned.
Oh, and also that time with the Nair.
Dean is the last to give his very own special stamp of approval. “You’re not so bad for a stiff in a uniform,” Dean announces, tipping his beer bottle in Cameron’s direction.
“Thanks, I think,” Cameron says.
“You’ll get nothing for nothing,” Dean adds cryptically and Cameron looks at him for a moment before he grins.
“ACDC,” he says and Dean’s answering grin is huge.
Author:
kellifer_fic Rating: PG
Category: Crossover (SPN/SGA/SG-1/BTVS/ANGEL)
Word Count: 3,297
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, no offense, no money.
Notes: Previous story The League Of Fairly Unusual Gentlemen - can be read as a standalone.
Summary: This is not how to set up a supernatural task force.
“It happens to everyone.”
Cameron looks up at Cordelia, who is swinging back and forth in her chair and twirling a piece of hair around her finger. Every now and again she leans forward and adjusts her nameplate and then her pen cup like she has a little OCD going on. She’s looking completely unimpressed that Cameron is currently an alarming shade of violet from his head to his boots.
He’s hoping he’s at least normal skin colour under his clothes but he kinda doubts it. He hasn’t been game enough to look.
“Well, not specifically that,” Cordelia allows. She’s got her phone headset on but she’s hit speaker because she’s on hold. The faint strains of Bach can be heard through the tinny speakers. Classical music for the masses, stripped bare and strained.
“Is anyone else here?” Cameron asks because he’s really hoping there isn’t. If Ronon or maybe Oz catches sight of him then it’s not real big deal. Sam or Dean though? He’ll never hear the end of it.
“Sam’s in the… thing,” Cordelia answers, waving a hand in the general direction of the row of partitions that separate the large warehouse space from the little bubble of space-time that serves as their actual office area. Cameron’s never, ever going to get used to the prickly sensation he gets whenever he goes near it or the fact that there’s a room that you walk through a wall to get to that is pimped out with all the latest mod cons in the middle of a bare industrial estate.
“Okay, I’m going to go home and try to… de-colour,” Cameron says, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. He knows a pretty smart woman who works at Area 51 who might have an idea on how he can accomplish the task. Either that or his mom. His first assignment by himself and he ends up looking like Violet Beauregarde without the unfortunate bloating. Yeah, he’s really glad no one’s around.
“Nu’uh,” Cordelia snaps, holding up an imperious finger. “Not until we get a sample.” She’s leaning forward and thumbing the intercom, something else that makes Cameron’s head hurt, to think just how an intercom works between the warehouse and the other place. “Sam? You’re gonna want to come out here,” she says.
There’s the faint smell of ozone and a crackle and then Sam’s head appears above the line of partitions. His eyebrows climb as soon as he spots Cameron but he doesn’t laugh. His mouth thins down into a tiny slash and the skin around his lips goes white but he doesn’t laugh.
Oh yeah, going to be hearing about this one for months.
“So, what happened to you?” Sam asks brightly after a too-long drawn out silence which means he had to fight for composure. His voice sounds a little wobbly.
“Absolutely nothing,” Cameron deadpans.
The warehouse door on the other side opens and slams shut and Cameron winces. “Holy blueberry!” Dean exclaims from behind him.
“Look, it happens-” Sam starts to say, his lips still funny and tight.
“To everyone. Yeah, I got that, thanks,” Cameron snarls through gritted teeth.
You see, it happens like this.
Stargate Command establishes an Earth-based task force to deal with those rare occasions when alien activity is not confined to Cheyenne Mountain. It’s all going swimmingly right up until on three separate occasions, the task force is investigating an unusual event and they run into a pair of guys with different credentials each time.
Twice, the SGC task force backs off because there is no actual evidence of alien incursion but the third time, with a Goa’uld turning up in Nebraska, they go in and find the Goa’uld tied to a chair with the men throwing holy water and Latin around and looking really confused that it’s not getting results.
The taskforce does the only thing they can think of. They arrest the two men, throw them in a holding cell in Colorado Springs and then have absolutely no idea what to do with them. There’s a couple of escape attempts and the pair actually almost get out on one of them despite being deep in the bowels of a military installation. The higher ups realise they can’t just leave them sitting on their hands forever because they seem pretty determined to get out.
General Jack O’Neill flies out from Washington and the men, identified as Sam and Dean Winchester, are trooped in to meet him.
“So,” Jack says, eyes flicking between them. “Ghosts are real, huh?”
Dean just snorts and leans back in his chair but Sam sits forward, wearing an earnest expression and resting his elbows on his knees. “Apparently so are aliens,” Sam says in the exact same tone and Jack… well?
He laughs.
“You understand we can’t have you running afoul of our ops?” Jack begins, and Dean is now looking thoroughly unimpressed and even a little pissed off. Apparently though, he and Sam have decided that Sam is the spokesperson despite Dean looking about ready to tell Jack what he can do with his ops, or how far he can shove them.
“We don’t want you guys getting in the way of our hunts either,” Sam agrees. Jack blinks at him because he didn’t realise they were negotiating, but apparently, there it is. One of the perks of being a General is Jack can have ideas and just run with them without having to run them through any kind of approval process. At least, that’s what he keeps doing. He’s got some underlings who constantly look harassed and would like to inform him that this isn’t particularly true.
“I maybe have a way we can both leave here happy,” Jack says and both Sam and Dean look interested but wary. Dean reaches across the table to the plate of muffins that are in the center and proceeds to eat only the tops of five before he brushes off his hands and nods.
“Proceed,” he invites, managing to sound magnanimous.
Yep, Jack likes these boys a lot.
Cameron asks if he can drive the Impala exactly once. That’s enough to know that he has stepped into a no-man’s land. “I thought it was, you know, provided,” he says when he’s just stared at and Dean makes a horrible choking noise, Sam thumping him on the back and glaring at Cameron like he’s just proposed microwaving bunnies.
He’s relegated to the back seat and is made to understand that he would’ve been in the trunk if it hadn’t been full of equipment. Cameron worked hard to get to his position so it’s a little unfair that he’s with a bunch of civilians who have absolutely zero respect for his rank. Jack’s only advice is to be more assertive. Cameron only hopes that the pall of new guy wears off some time in the next ten years.
Cameron’s always had trouble sitting still so stakeouts are murder on him. It doesn’t help that Sam and Dean are in the front seat, Dean working his way through a box of powdered donuts and Sam engrossed in a book. They have this kind of short hand to their speech that Cameron’s finding a little too hard to follow. He supposes it hasn’t really been an issue before considering the laconic nature of both Ronon and Oz and the fact that Cordelia doesn’t listen to anyone.
“You want one?” Dean offers the box of donuts over the seat and Cameron shakes his head.
“Nah. I can’t keep it off like I used to,” he says, patting his stomach absently. Dean’s eyes narrow and he curls the box back towards himself.
“Are you calling me fat?” he demands, mouth still half-full.
“If Dean offers you a donut, you take it,” Sam intones from his place on the passenger side, not even looking up from his book.
It takes a moment for Cameron to realise that they are both messing with him in their own unique ways.
Dean’s interest perks as soon as Cordelia Chase walks into their warehouse but fades a little when he sees her glancing around and wrinkling up her nose. She plops her resume down on the desk between them and takes a seat without being asked. Sam, at the end of the desk with a laptop open in front of him, raises one eyebrow.
Dean makes a show of looking through her resume but isn’t too sure what he’s supposed to see. He’s never actually hired anyone before and he can’t tell whether the three pages on electric blue paper and smelling faintly of flowers is what he should be expecting. He’s thankful he really only has to go through this once though. He and Sam interviewing is only a formality. It’s not like they can stick a ‘Help Wanted’ sign outside.
They’re pretty much stuck with whoever the SGC sends them.
“Not military?” Dean hazards, looking at the painted nails and pencil skirt with a slash almost to the hip which he is really a fan of.
“God, no,” Cordelia dismisses with an airy wave of her hand. “Look, I’ve done the whole office assistant thing before,” she adds, leaning forward to tap one of her painted nails on the top page of the resume. “Plus, I’m a seer. That’s a bonus, right?”
Dean looks at Sam who is frowning. “Everyone’s a seer these days,” Sam grumbles, not looking up from the screen.
“Anyway,” Cordelia steamrollers ahead, flashing Dean a bright smile. “Unemployment does not suit me but I’m a little limited to where I can work.”
“She’s flagged as a demon,” Sam says, sounding surprised and both Dean and Cordelia look at him. Sam colours and turns the laptop around, Cordelia’s profile in the top window and a red bar across the bottom. “Why would they send us-?”
Cordelia huffs an exasperated sigh. She brings a hand up and squeezes her thumb and index finger together, leaving about an inch of space. “I’m only the tiniest bit demon,” she says. “And that’s only because if I’d kept having my visions as a full-blood human then it would’ve blown out the back of my head in a rather spectacular and gross fashion.”
“You’re not evil?” Dean is a little wary, but then he looks at Sam again. Despite their protestations, the SGC had felt it necessary to flag Sam on the demon registry too. That had almost been a deal breaker.
“If by evil you mean head spinning, pea soup spewing? Then no,” Cordelia confirms.
“Wait, you worked for an angel?”
Cameron ends up spending a lot of time with Ronon and Oz. They’re both unlike anyone he’s ever met before and they both have the ability to say a lot without saying very much. Ronon is a big fan of horror movies and the muppets and Oz finds out of the way tiny clubs with great live music.
“That was my band,” Oz reveals one day when Cameron’s helping him clean out his van and he unearths a record with a picture of what looks like a dun-coloured dog holding a baby doll in its jaws. Cameron just raises his eyebrows and Oz shakes his head. “It was funny at the time.”
“Do you miss…?” Cameron trails off, realising that he was just about to put his foot royally in his mouth. Being normal, is what he was going to ask and Oz gives him a look like he knows exactly what the end of that question was supposed to be. He watches Oz going through clothes and sniffing them experimentally, sorting out two piles, what Cameron thinks is probably dirty and unsalvageable.
“I almost killed my girlfriend my very first cycle,” Oz says when he finally pauses, a t-shirt in each hand. One has a bloodstain and a large tear in the back. “So would I change it if I could? You bet,” he adds, sounding so neutral that Cameron’s really not sure if he’s overstepped some invisible line in the sand or not. Oz touches the prayer beads that circle his wrist and hand.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean…” Cameron makes a helpless gesture with his hands. Oz always seems so unaffected by everything that he had no idea there was such obvious pain below the surface. He supposes it was ludicrous to think anything but.
“Don’t freak out.”
Dean and Sam are looking at Cordelia who is standing in front of two people, a small guy with spiky orange hair and a woman with longer red hair. Sam had been antsy all morning and went into full on jitter mode as soon as they’d entered. Dean’s pretty sure it has to do with one or both of them.
“These are my friends Oz and Willow,” Cordelia introduces. “Oz here needs a favour and Willow’s here to help.”
“A favour from us?” Dean asks, incredulous.
“Well, technically me but I’m kinda volunteering you.” Cordelia’s shoulders go up around her ears and she grins in a way Dean recognises. It’s the ice-cream for breakfast grin that Sam had tried on him when he was seven. “See, Oz here is a werewolf and… woah!” Cordelia puts her hands up and Willow and Oz step backwards when both Sam and Dean pull weapons.
“Sorry man, nothing personal,” Dean says grimly, advancing on Oz but Cordelia steps in between, smacking Dean in the chest with her hands and glaring.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” she demands as a wind whips up. Dean and Sam both look around in surprise and then at Willow who has her hands out at her sides, fingers splayed. The wind is coming from her.
“Everyone calm down!” Cordelia yells over the increasing screech of the wind that is tossing papers and books around. Oz is hunched into himself, arms crossed over his chest and looking uncomfortable about the whole thing.
“You said you weren’t evil!” Dean accuses, pointing a finger from Cordelia to Willow. “But you bring a witch in here and a werewolf!”
“They’re not… oh hell. Willow would you quit that!” Cordelia snaps, turning her back on Dean long enough to smack Willow in the forehead. Willow looks surprised and then furious but the wind dies. “You’ve dealt with witches before,” Cordelia says, turning back on the brothers. “Unless the portal into the main office just, I don’t know, magically appeared by itself.”
“There’s only one thing you can do for a werewolf,” Sam pipes up, looking stricken.
“That’s so obtuse,” Willow scoffs.
“Look, I don’t want to be any trouble,” Oz adds. Willow keeps trying to stand in front of him but he keeps edging around her. “If this is a big deal, we’ll find somewhere else.”
“For what?” Dean asks, curious despite himself.
“I was going to set up a holding portal here. Cordy said it would be okay,” Willow says, indicating their space with a wave of her hand.
“A what?” Sam asks, lowering his gun. Dean does the same when Cordelia narrows her eyes at him.
“Oz doesn’t have to change every month but it takes the edge of if he does every three or so,” Willow explains. Dean and Sam both blink at her. “I set up a holding portal that can be closed from the outside and there’s no actual cage he can escape from during the transformation. It’s a lot safer.”
“There’s nothing safe about being a werewolf,” Dean interrupts and Willow rolls her eyes.
“Yes, we are well aware of that thankyou,” she sniffs. “But there’s certainly precautions you can take that mean you don’t have to…” She waves a hand at their now lowered weapons.
“He’s pretty useful too,” Cordelia adds, smiling. “When friends of ours were kidnapped we found them from across town because he could smell them.” Dean notices both Willow’s and Oz’s expressions do something funny when Cordelia says this but he doesn’t press.
Cameron isn’t exactly dreading his call in to the SGC, but he also isn’t quite sure what he’s going to say. The work is certainly exciting and intriguing, but sometimes it’s like wrangling middle schoolers.
Dean choosing that very moment to peg an M&M at his head, case in point.
“Apparently,” Dean says to the assembled group, half a jawbreaker lodged in his cheek so he looks like a lopsided chipmunk. “We’ve become the dumping ground for weird alien crap.”
“His name is Ronon,” Sam corrects from his perch on Cordelia’s desk, a file open in his lap.
“He’s a guy with a tracking device embedded in his spine who is being chased by space vampires,” Dean adds, crossing his arms and furrowing his brow. “I only just got used to the whole vampire thing. Now I gotta add space to it?”
“We’re not worried about them finding him here?” Cordelia asks, not looking very concerned about it. Currently she’s painting the nails on Sam’s hand she can reach pale pink.
“Well, they’re from another galaxy,” Dean says, waving an airy hand in the vague direction of the roof. “Maybe there’s no alien space vampire receiving tower in the neighbourhood.”
“I’m sorry, was this an actual meeting or did you just want to vent?” Oz asks and Dean turns on him.
“You’re getting a little lippy,’ Dean accuses and Oz grins.
But really, it happens like this.
Cameron Mitchell can ask for any assignment he wishes and he knows he’ll be transferred in a second. Getting your ass shot down while saving the day in Antarctica does have its perks, even if it takes twelve months of intensive physical therapy to finally be in a position to enjoy them.
He’s not restricted from flying, can head to nearest Air force base whenever he wants and take whatever he wants up. He gets called up when there’s something especially experimental and pretty to fly which is a bonus.
He doesn’t really feel settled though, not until the first time Sam and Dean turn up to his house, a stack of movies and pizza boxes piled between them. Oz and Ronon show up next and Cordelia isn’t far behind, although she makes a face at the movie choices and reads a magazine instead of watching, feet propped on Ronon’s shoulder who is sitting on the floor in front of her.
Ronon’s usually silent demeanour disappears as soon as a movie is on. He asks questions and laughs loud and fights with Dean for the popcorn until Cameron separates it into two bowls, and then fights with Dean about who got more.
Oz flicks through his record collection and isn’t as amused by it as Cameron would’ve assumed. Cameron likes his country and he likes original vinyl and these two things seem to be a-okay with Oz.
Sam tells him about how they started all this while they’re fetching beers in the kitchen and reheating some of the left over pizza. He’s funny and engaging but while Cameron knows there’s a lot he’s not telling him, he doesn’t mind half so much. Mostly because he also hears about how their dad was in the marines so it isn’t the military either he or Dean have such a problem with but the fact that they didn’t really have a say in who they got assigned.
Oh, and also that time with the Nair.
Dean is the last to give his very own special stamp of approval. “You’re not so bad for a stiff in a uniform,” Dean announces, tipping his beer bottle in Cameron’s direction.
“Thanks, I think,” Cameron says.
“You’ll get nothing for nothing,” Dean adds cryptically and Cameron looks at him for a moment before he grins.
“ACDC,” he says and Dean’s answering grin is huge.
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*falls over laughing*
This was so so great.
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